Whatever This Is
by Suilven
Summary: Whatever this was, it wasn't love. At least, that's what she kept telling herself.


Unlike most, I've always liked the antiseptic smell of hospitals. The staleness of recirculated air is a bit reminiscent of the ships I grew up on, although, now that I think about it, I've probably spent more time breathing purified, recycled air than the real thing.

The sound of Kaidan's breathing is calming, the steady rise and fall almost enough to make me forget how close he came to not making it.

Almost.

But, it's impossible for me to forget the crushing weight of my own fear as he'd fallen to the ground; battered, crushed, choked—lifeless, I had thought then. I remember far too much of that moment and the ones that immediately followed; the sting of the sand biting into my skin, the unvoiced scream that tried, unsuccessfully, to burst from my throat.

Was that how it had been for him, when he'd been left waiting for my escape pod that had never arrived? As I stare once more into the dead eyes and gaping maw of my lost years, I can't help feeling that he's never forgiven me for ordering him to go… Maybe he never will.

Part of me wishes he would wake up, so that the perpetual knot in my stomach would loosen a little; yet, another part of me wants to stay just like this, in this strange sort of stasis, for a little while longer. The hum of the lights, the murmur of conversation from the hallway that surrounds us but doesn't intrude; all noises that are more familiar to me than birds or rain.

I should be going soon, but I've been telling myself that for the last hour and I'm clearly still here.

My fingers ache to touch him, to remember, but I keep my hands clasped tightly in my lap and try to content myself with nothing more than memories that are, for me at least, an actual lifetime ago. While he wasn't the first one I broke the regs with, I'm reasonably sure that he'll be the last. Not just because of the war; more, because he'd exposed a sort of vulnerability in me that I'd never thought I possessed. It wasn't love, though maybe it could have been, under different circumstances. It was a heightened awareness, a connection that smouldered under casual touches and weighted glances. It _could_ have been more.

Maybe.

But, whatever we were, whatever we'd had, it had always been in competition with much bigger things. Saren and Sovereign. Cerberus. The Reapers. A handful of stolen moments in the dark didn't mean much in comparison.

It's late into the evening now, and the temptation to close my eyes is getting stronger. I _should_ go. Instead, I lean forward, resting my head on my arms at the edge of his bed. In my mind, I crawl up next to him and bury my face into the crook of his neck, breathing in the scent of Alliance-issued soap. His arms wrap around me, pulling me in close. I can almost hear the low and breathless rumble of his laughter as I scrape my teeth lightly over the sensitive area under his jaw where he won't admit he's ticklish.

I miss it, I miss _him_, and I don't think it's ever going to be like that again. Too much has changed. After Horizon, I'd smashed his picture, dumping it into the waste compactor myself just to make sure it was gone. Now, as stupid as it is, I wish I still had it.

He sighs in his drug-induced sleep and it's enough to make me sit up again, but there's no change. His expression is still blank, peaceful, while the rhythm of his breathing and the blip of the heart monitor fill the silence. I stand up slowly, rolling the shoulder that hasn't been right since they brought me back.

I know I'll be back again tomorrow morning—my last chance before we leave the Citadel—but I drink him in with my eyes, trying to remember. The swelling is hardly noticeable now; his features are his own, except for the bruises that refuse to fade.

"I'll see you later," I whisper. My voice sounds odd, hollow, in here. "Don't give up." I want to say something more, but the words stick in my throat. Before I can second guess myself, I bend down and press my lips to his forehead. It feels so _right_ I can hardly stand it.

I need to _go_, before I end up sinking back down into the uncomfortable chair next to his bed and spending another hour here. The blanket that covers most of him hasn't moved, but I feel obliged to smooth out the edges anyway.

I wish… No, there's no point going down that road. It is what it is.

"Bye, Kaidan." I resist the urge to take his hand, backing away towards the door. I linger there, too; dimming the lights for him, as if it mattered.

This isn't love.

Maybe if I keep repeating it to myself it'll be true.

* * *

_A/N: A birthday gift for a wonderful writer, Shakespira, who I'm honoured to call my friend. Thank you for all your support and kindness, and I hope your birthday (weekend) was fantastic. :)_

_This is also an answer to Zute's "write something in first person" challenge on the CMDA boards. I honestly don't remember the last time I wrote anything in first person, and it was a lot of fun._

_Thank you, as always, to Josie Lange for giving this a super-speedy whack with her beta stick. :D_

_Finally, now that the note down here is getting way too long, I apologize to everyone waiting for Fracture Patterns. I've been battling through writer's block and real life craziness, but the next chapter is more than half done now so, hopefully, it won't be _too_ much longer. I'm sorry for the wait. :(_


End file.
